


Beauty And The Beholder

by Sandyclaws68



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Episode 10 jossed me, Gen, In a good way though, M/M, Pre-Series, Spoilers through episode 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandyclaws68/pseuds/Sandyclaws68
Summary: Viktor had always known that an icy heart was the best way to protect himself from the prevalent innuendos of his sport, but it has also taken its toll on his inspiration and love of skating.Until he sees a certain video, and a certain skater.





	

Viktor Nikiforov did not talk about sexuality. Not his or anyone else's. Period.

That didn't mean he was ignorant of the constant speculation that surrounded most male figure skaters. One of his first coaches had told him that if he ever attained any degree of success he would become a target for those sorts of questions for as long as he had anything to do with the sport. But by the time he was fourteen Viktor had decided that he would just ignore all of that, and any reporter that attempted to bring the subject up was shut down, politely yet firmly. He maintained his public persona of a carefree flirt, bestowing attention on any and all equally, and it helped with keeping a certain amount of unwanted attention away.

If that also meant that he didn't _think_ about sexuality, particularly his own, well that was just fine with him. He might have been willing to indulge in sex with both male and female partners, but he never let anyone too close, didn't have a problem with letting the ice he loved encase his heart. It kept him shielded from most of the vagaries of life, and while it wasn't an ideal existence it worked for him.

Until the day it didn't.

He first became aware of Japan's Katsuki Yuuri when he was twenty-two and the younger boy eighteen. There were encounters backstage at various competitions and exhibitions, and awkward greetings when each did his best to wrap his tongue around the other's language. He remembered always smiling when the other skater would bow to him, and the way Yuuri reacted the first time he returned the gesture. It was a friendship, of sorts, one unhampered by the need to actually be friends.

Which was probably a bonus because the one other thing that Viktor remembered clearly from that time was the stressful feeling of an immense talent drawing ever closer. That Yuuri _was_ talented was never really in dispute; the question was always what, exactly, would he be able to do with it. Viktor hoped the younger boy would be able to do great things with all of his potential, since the idea of a genuine rival thrilled him to no end.

But over the years that thrill dissipated to be replaced with disappointment. The nods and greetings backstage came to a stop, as did any pretense of friendship. And it hurt, in a way he tried not to put much thought into. Yuuri was still the same insanely talented skater that Viktor had noticed years before, but he faltered and stumbled when it came to competitions. Every time. He lacked the fundamental confidence in himself to be a success in any sort of sport.

It was a stark contrast to the young, fellow Russian, that Viktor was confronted with on a daily basis. Yuri Plisetsky was loud, brash, and obnoxiously sure of himself. To a degree he grated on Viktor's nerves, but it was also something of a relief. This was someone he could respond to with ease, someone who would never need more from him than he could give.

So instead of a rival Viktor found himself with a protege that he didn't really want, didn't know exactly what to do with, and in some ways thoroughly disliked.

It all came to a head the night of the Grand Prix Final, with Viktor winning handily and Plisetsky capturing the Junior Championship without breaking a (figurative) sweat. And Yuuri. . . Yuuri, who had been in a position the earn a medal. Yuuri, who had just needed to skate clean, technically, and let his beautiful spins and footwork rack up the points. Yuuri had. . .

Fallen apart. Again.

Viktor couldn't explain, even to himself, why he felt his heart breaking as he watched. It wasn't his failure (a concept he was rather unfamiliar with). It wasn't his dreams collapsing in a heap on the ice. And yet. . .

The rest of the evening, including his own program, passed in a blur. Plisetsky was his usual self, and their coach looked on the verge of a stroke as a result. Viktor did his level best to ignore it, but he felt obligated to offer his young team mate some advice, even if it was totally dismissed. They were on their way out of the arena, with Yakov berating Plisetsky with fervor, when he became aware of eyes on him.

Someone staring at him wasn't unusual; it was a sensation that he was all too familiar with. But this time it was different; there was a seriousness to the regard that suggested something more than a zealous fan. Movement, and a flash of blue, in the corner of his eye caught his attention; he turned his head and met the eyes of Katsuki Yuuri.

They hadn't been this close to each other - this close to actually talking – in years. Nearly three of them, by Viktor's count. A part of him wanted to smile, to execute a textbook perfect bow and see surprise and pleasure chase the sadness from Yuuri's face. But an even bigger part of him couldn't resist the impulse to flirt as if the other skater were just one more fan. So he pasted on the smile he used in public and made some inane comment about posing for a commemorative photo.

He knew he deserved the cold look and the turned back as Yuuri left the arena with his coach.

****~**~**~**~**~****

The rest of that season dragged by in the usual round of practices and performances, broken up by the occasional public appearance for something other than figure skating. Everything he did was done by rote, without any heart or emotion. Even standing on the top of the World Championship podium felt like the usual; it was, after all, the fifth year in a row that he had done so. But he was so skilled at hiding what was really going on inside his head that no one suspected a thing.

After World's Viktor knew he had a lot of thinking to do: about his career and his future. His inspiration and drive were severely lacking and he wasn't sure he could continue skating when his heart and soul were no longer in it. Wasn't sure if he'd be able to continue surprising audiences. There was a lot of pressure on him, however, and he was reluctant to do what he really wanted because it would mean disappointing so many people.

Reluctant, that is, until a sportscaster sent him a link to a video that made his heart swell and his breath catch in his throat. He watched, enthralled, as Katsuki Yuuri skated a perfect copy of his free program from the past season, but with all of the emotion that had been lacking in his own performances. When it was all over he had to remind himself to breathe.

Then he watched it again. And again. And again. It was only when Makkachin furiously demanded to be taken out for his evening walk that Viktor tore himself away from his phone and the video that had seared itself into his mind, his heart, and his soul.

And suddenly he knew what he needed to do, knew the only thing that could possibly give him his inspiration back. He was on a plane bound for Japan before twenty-four hours could pass.

He was delayed for a couple of days in Tokyo by the need to ship many of his possessions, a process that involved seemingly never-ending phone calls to St. Petersburg. Then he discovered that the logistics of getting to where he needed to go were something of a nightmare. He laughingly cursed his impetuosity in coming on an almost-whim; if he had done his research he would have flown into Osaka to begin with. But the concierge at his hotel was beyond helpful (being a fan didn't hurt) and made all of the arrangements for the Shinkansen to Osaka, and from there to Fukuoka. After that, though, he was on his own.

The station master in Fukuoka was another fan, of figure skating in general and of Yuuri in particular, and he didn't hesitate to set Viktor on the last leg of his journey, even if it was in the midst of an unseasonable snow storm. He arrived in the small seaside town of Hasetsu at just after one in the morning, marveling at the signs and posters in the station celebrating their hometown hero. He made his way to the closest inn that was willing to accommodate himself and Makkachin and dropped off right away, exhausted from nearly thirty-six hours of travel.

When he woke up the next morning it was to find his room flooded with the distinctive light that comes from reflecting off of snow. He peeked out the window to find a fairy tale landscape, not unlike what he always loved about winters at home. Overcome with an almost giddy happiness he wanted to take his dog and romp in the snow, leave their footprints on a pristine expanse of white, but he still had a goal in mind, something he needed to accomplish. So he set out on foot, following precise directions until he stood in front of Yu-topia Katsuki, the hot springs inn owned by the family of the man he had traveled all this way in pursuit of.

Who burst through the door, flustered and cherry red from the cold, while Viktor was relaxing in the spring, and did not seem terribly happy at the announcement he had a new coach. But when he pulled off his fogged over glasses and Viktor caught sight of a pair of eyes that reminded him of the deep reddish-brown color of his favorite cognac the ice around his heart started to crack.

Okay, so the delicious pork cutlet bowl (katsudon, Yuuri called it) didn't hurt either. In fact the entire atmosphere of the onsen – the sulfurous smell of the spring, the comfort of the rooms, and the warm smiles of the people of Hasetsu – more than convinced him that coming to Japan had been the right decision.

But virtually a lifetime's habit of teasing and playing the flirt couldn't be overcome in a day, and he found himself treating Yuuri in that same manner, despite believing that it wasn't the best way to get the other man to respond to him. He teased him about his weight, declaring that he was not allowed on the ice until he had regained his previous form. He crowded into his personal space, asking a variety of questions that might have skirted the edges of propriety between a coach and skater, talked about sleeping together as the best way to get to know each other. And with each joking statement, each flirtatious comment, and each questionable intimacy Yuuri's face grew redder, until Viktor started to have serious worries about his blood pressure.

And then something unexpected happened. Despite all the discomfort and embarrassment Yuuri responded positively. He threw himself into an exercise regimen to drop weight and worked out with Minako-sensei, his old ballet instructor, every day. Viktor watched from the sidelines, occasionally injecting one of his comments or questions that never failed to make Yuuri flush to the tips of his ears. It was surprisingly enjoyable, and after a few days Yuuri seemed to settle into a comfort level around him. It was still easy to rile him up, of course, but Viktor found himself more and more drawn to the calmer version, the version that seemed to have accepted the reality of what his life had become.

And the cracks in the ice of his heart widened, a few chips dropping away and melting like a late season snowfall.

But it all threatened to freeze over again when Yuri Plisetsky arrived in Hasetsu, demanding that Viktor return to Russia with him and honor a promise that he had made. A promise that Viktor vaguely remembered, in a half-thought, maybe-was-serious-about sort of way. He had no intention of acceding to Plisetsky's wishes, of course, but the crestfallen expression on Yuuri's face gave him an idea of how he could remain in Hasetsu, choreograph for Plisetsky, and give Yuuri a confidence boost all at the same time. It didn't take long for what would be known as the Onsen On Ice showdown to take shape.

But it was only later that evening, after a soak in the spring and a meal of his favorite katsudon (which Plisetsky likewise couldn't get enough of) that Viktor felt the first, tiny stirrings of a breakthrough in his relationship with Yuuri.

He noticed Yuuri's disappearance fairly quickly but everyone else was so busy he didn't have an opportunity to ask. That and it wasn't a subject he felt comfortable discussing in front of Plisetsky, who was now, thanks to Yuuri's sister, enshrined as Yurio. When the boy fell asleep he finally felt able to ask Mari about her brother's absence. Her response sent him out into town, seeking Minako-sensei, who seemed surprised when he walked into her bar.

“When Mari said my place she meant the ballet studio,” she said, pouring him a drink. “Yuuri always wants to practice when he feels anxious, so he'd either be there or at the rink. Ice Castle lets him practice whenever it isn't booked for something else, and that's been a huge help in his career. He's never been a 'genius', but he's also never wasted the chances that have been given to him.”

He didn't need to ask what Yuuri might have been anxious about; he had learned enough about the other man to figure that out on his own.

At Ice Castle Hasetsu he found himself strangely reluctant to interrupt Yuuri and actually speak to him. He ended up in one of the staging rooms with the Nishigoris, and again listened carefully as the people who knew the other man better than he spoke of their friend.

“He's always liked to practice alone,” Yuuko commented, her voice bright but with a trace of sadness. “I used to think it was because he loved skating so much. I mean, he didn't even play with his friends.”

“Not that he had all that many,” Takeshi put in. “He never made friends easily, because except for skating Yuuri isn't good at putting himself out there. But he hates to lose, I know that.”

Viktor turned all of it – everything he had learned from Mari, Minako, and the Nishigoris – over in his head for a moment, finally seeing a clear way to proceed. “So, a magic spell to change the little piggy into a prince,” he whispered, more or less to himself.

****~**~**~**~**~****

The following day he put his ideas into action, beginning with the music he had already been working with when he thought it'd be a short program for himself. One piece, two different arrangements, each with its own theme, its own interpretation of love. Both of the others reacted to the music how he expected, so it was with some inner laughter that he assigned each of them the music and theme that was in direct opposition to their personalities and their preference. Surprising the audience, doing what wasn't expected, was the important thing, he insisted.

Plisetsky's reaction was fairly predictable; he had been surprised at first but his natural brash arrogance soon surged to the fore and had him forcefully declaring that he would win and then Viktor would go back in Russia with him. Yuuri was a bit more diffident; clearly the idea of Eros – sexual love – made him uncomfortable, and when Viktor asked him what he wanted if he won there was a moment when he thought the dark haired man wouldn't answer.

“I want to eat katsudon with you, Viktor,” the whispered answer finally came. “I want to keep on winning and keep on eating katsudon, so I'll skate to _Eros_.” His voice suddenly grew in volume and strength. “I'll give it all the Eros I've got!”

Almost against his will Viktor felt his lips curl in a smile. “Great!” he replied with enthusiasm. “That's exactly what I like!”

The next day was when the clock started to tick down to the competition a week hence. Viktor skated abbreviated versions of both programs that had been taking up space in his head, giving both of the the other skaters at least some idea of what would be required of them. Again, as expected, Yurio's confidence was on full display and Yuuri's. . . wasn't. He as much as admitted that it was an issue, had been a issue his entire career. That he was able to open up even that much pleased Viktor; that little glimpse into what made Yuuri tick was worth almost everything in his eyes at that moment.

And as he glided across the ice and into Yuuri's personal space, as he crooked a finger beneath the shorter man's chin and pressed his thumb into the fullness of his lower lip, Viktor couldn't help but feel the steady emotional drip of his heart continuing to melt.

“No one in the whole world knows your true Eros, Yuuri,” he whispered, their faces and lips close enough that the words were almost a kiss. “It may be an alluring side of you that you yourself are unaware of.” He slid his thumb across the other man's lips. “Can you show me what it is soon?”

“Oi, Viktor! I thought you were teaching me first!”

Viktor closed his eyes for the briefest moment before releasing Yuuri and taking a step back, acknowledging Plisetsky as he did. But then he couldn't resist one last glance back, and one last command. “Think long and hard about what Eros is to you.”

****~**~**~**~**~****

_Katsudon_ , Viktor laughed to himself. Yuuri had actually equated Eros – physical, sexual, erotic love – with his favorite food. In a way he could understand it; the idea of something (or someone) that made you lose the capacity for rational thought, that took your ability to make reasoned decisions and threw it out the window. He had just personally never equated that with food.

Although if he ever wanted to start the katsudon the Katsuki Hiroko made would probably be at the top of his list.

It was a start, but not enough. Yuuri was still lagging behind Yurio, for whom something had changed in the last couple of days. He was showing occasional flashes of an awareness of agape – unconditional love – and it gave his skating a new dimension that Viktor had previously expected the boy to be incapable of. But he knew that even as quickly as Plisetsky was progressing he would never be able to overtake Yuuri once the elder connected with the one thing he needed to make _Eros_ sing.

The evening before the competition passed in a flurry of activity, with the two Yuuri's digging through the immense inventory of every costume Viktor had ever worn during his own career, trying to choose one for themselves. He grinned to himself at the fact that Yuuri seemed able to recognize each one – could name the year and the program it was worn for. But when Yuuri picked up one particular costume – black, with sheer mesh and crystalline accents on the right shoulder, and an almost-skirt at the right hip – Viktor knew that what was left of his ice-covered heart didn't stand a chance.

"I had long hair at the time,” he said, remembering. “And this costume was meant to suggest male and female genders at the same time.”

Yuuri, with his eyes shining and his cheeks slightly flushed, held it to his chest. Light refracted off of some of the crystals, giving his face an ethereal glow. “I choose this one,” he whispered.

****~**~**~**~**~****

“Yuuri. It's your turn.”

Yuuri lifted his head with a gasp, the hands pressed to his face and over his mouth a surefire clue that he had retreated into his own head after watching Yurio skate. He was clearly flustered and nervous, and Viktor felt the tightness of worry in his stomach. He would abide by the terms set down by the three of them for this face-off, but if asked he'd never deny that he wanted Yuuri to win. It was a need in him unlike any he had ever felt before, desperate and urgent. But it wouldn't be fair of him to say anything of his own thoughts on Plisetsky's performance (technically perfect but emotionally lacking) so instead he bit his tongue and waited, hoping and praying that Yuuri would speak before he went out on the ice.

“Umm. . . I'm. . .” he stammered before drawing on some deep, previously unknown well of confidence. “I'm going to become a super tasty katsudon, so please look only at me!” he finally blurted out. Then, in a move that shocked Viktor to his core, he reached out and wound his arms around Viktor's neck and hugged him tightly. “Promise!”

With an inaudible sigh Viktor returned the embrace, pressing their cheeks together. “Of course,” he quietly spoke, words meant for Yuuri's ears alone. “I love katsudon.”

Yuuri abruptly pulled away, but met Viktor's eyes one last time before moving to the edge of the rink. Viktor watched as he carefully removed his blade guards and jacket before stepping on to the ice. He seemed calmer, now, and the tight knot of worry in Viktor's stomach eased.

It disappeared altogether when Yuuri stopped at center ice and assumed the program's opening pose. There was something different in the way he stood, the way he held himself. And as the music started and he began to move Viktor realized what it was. This wasn't a favorite food anymore. This was a deliberate, and delicious, seduction. Yuuri dropped a toe pick into the ice and cocked his head Viktor's way with a sexy smirk.

The sound of Viktor's surprised, and sexually charged, whistle was drowned out by the internal crash as the last of the ice collapsed from around his heart.

Viktor Nikiforov did not talk about sexuality. Not his or anyone else's.

As long as he had Yuuri it would never be necessary.


End file.
